lengthened

it has been shown,
on the basis of a very
specific set of ex-
periments, that
any person may
at some time
be guilty of
the phenomenon
commonly called
meaning.

with such an extensive prelude
in mind,
I invite you
to consider the
duality of
meaning/lessness present
in my previous work.
for the purposes of
utmost clarity, we
will cease excavation
of the third, fourth, and sixth works,
which exist merely to disappoint,
and besides one is probably unwilling to discuss the supposed underpinnings of a philosophical development which begins with justification and ends with the unknown, a development which we have seen paralleled in the works of sir Julius Augustine, that unlikely fellow who wrote not only the entire works of Shakespeare but also an æxtant manuscript known only today as “Mark.” despite the alleged humor in such a name, nevertheless such influences are quite alive in the three works which will not be discussed, nevertheless they will not be discussed.
I am
unsure of the
condition a fool would have to
accept in order to accept such
demonic thoughts.

think firstly
on enshrining by carbon,
the beauty enshrined
by further beauty merged
with destruction
of the most beautiful.
for what might this cause fear?

now consider a trip
in which one’s posture takes the place
of the dead whilst concurrently swimming
through a solid object
which causes water
to flow.
furthermore, imagine the death
of a village celebrated
by the self-proclaimed savior
who saves by exit.
how could one not regret?

finally ponder the
terminal being. despite such
an anonymous entity’s necessary
nonexistence, we see in
the fifth work,
the finest work,
the conception, not merely
in mind but
in body facilitated
by a norwegian bridge.
yet we are surely aware that
such bridges do
not yet exist.
of what then does it speak?

with these questions
in mind, I
invite my reader
to promptly
examine the nearest sofa
and determine whether
it is firstly ethical
and secondly mystical.
in doing so you will
have accomplished nearly
but not quite
not as much as
I am
taken to have done
in the past several days.

I conclude with these words,
supposedly written by myself
on october twenty-fifth,
two thousand twelve,
though I must disclaim
I have no remembrance of their
content:
“The interpolation of my life as rational,
Gentlemen, hear me out.”
thank you for your time.